


Be a good pet

by tissaias_piglet



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: 8ft tiddy vampire milf gf porn, F/F, Oral Sex, PWP, one (1) unexpected (and therefore not consented to) sexual touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/pseuds/tissaias_piglet
Summary: You’ve only been at the house a week before you’re summoned to Lady Dimitrescu’s private room early one morning. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as your mind races over what you could possibly have done to get into trouble so quickly.
Relationships: Lady Dimitrescu/reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 426





	Be a good pet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheshireobserver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireobserver/gifts).



> Listen, I am but a humble lesbian, of course I had to write porn for tiddy vampire mommy!

You’ve only been at the house a week before you’re summoned to Lady Dimitrescu’s private room early one morning. It’s at the top of a tower, chilly and dim like the rest of the place, even with the fires constantly burning. You’re cold when you start out, but by the time you’re mid-way up the winding staircase, you’re uncomfortably warm and almost panting for breath.

Her home is like none you’ve ever worked in; overseen with an iron will and not a small amount of force by the lady herself, her three daughters given free reign to run utterly wild, and not a man in sight. Although the mistress herself is stern but fair, her daughters are frequently mischievous, irritating, and sometimes downright cruel. Still, they cower like whipped animals before the lady’s fearsome temper, the only time they’re ever quiet and meek.

Having only seen Lady Dimitrescu from a distance, save for the first day of your employment when she was seated at her desk, you’re sure that it’s just a trick of the light which makes her seem so tall. Her sheer presence, and frequent anger, must combine to make her seem much larger and more terrifying than she is in reality. Still, in the face of such a terrifying summons, reassuring yourself that she cannot be much taller than any other woman doesn’t make you any less nervous.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as your mind races over what you could possibly have done to get into trouble so quickly. One of the lady’s daughters had been deliberately getting in your way while you were trying to clean the dining room yesterday, and you wonder whether you’re about to be punished for being sharp with her. After all, the lady had demanded absolute, unfailing politeness from you the day you arrived.

There’s no maid to let you into the room, so you knock timidly and wait for a response, trying desperately to get control of your breathing. Even the doors to Lady Dimitrescu’s room are elegant and stately, and for a moment you forget your fear as you consider the opulence you’re undoubtedly about to see inside.

“Enter,” she commands from inside the room, and suddenly your fear returns full force, but although your steps falter, you present yourself in front of her as quickly and noiselessly as possible. The room is vast, exquisitely ornamented just as you imagined, and you feel as tiny as a mouse in the centre of it, beneath her intense gaze. You don’t need to stare to know that any single trinket among those crowded on the mantlepiece is worth more than you’ll ever earn in your lifetime.

Lady Dimitrescu is sat at her dressing table, wearing a shimmering silk robe so beautiful that you wonder whether it has actual gold in it. She remains seated as her gaze rakes over you, and she struggles to suppress a kind of smile. “As you may have noticed, girl, I find myself without a maid. In my position, that will not do at all,” she begins, and your heart begins to pound infinitesimally less.Is it possible that you are, in fact, not in trouble at all? You feel the strong urge to hold your breath as she continues. “As your performance here so far has been exemplary, I am promoting you to lady’s maid with immediate effect.” Her voice is low and almost mesmerising; you can’t look away from her when she’s talking, and when she stops, it’s a few seconds before you remember that you need to look up from her lips and actually answer.

The fact you’ve never been a lady’s maid before is a moot point, because it’s not a request, it’s a command. Lady Dimitrescu has made a decision and now you must make it happen or face her legendary wrath, stories about which you’ve already heard enough of to last a lifetime. But how can you do what she’s asking when you don’t have the first idea how to be a lady’s maid? The words freeze in your mouth, and instead of responding in the affirmative, as you’re supposed to, all you can do is let out an unintelligible squeak.

Her face softens a little, correctly presuming that while you know you must obey, you’re worried about disappointing her. “Don’t worry dear,” she purrs, “we’ll start with something simple. Why don’t you dress me?” She slowly removes her luxurious robe, draping it over the back of her chair, and you swallow hard when you see the thin nightdress she’s wearing, her nipples gently peaked beneath the silk.  
  
“My lady, I- I don’t know what to do,” you stammer, trying not to stare at her. You can feel your heart beating wildly at the thought of what lies beneath her clothes, and the idea of your fingers brushing her soft, pale skin even for a second.

She sits in her nightdress before you, half frowning, half smirking, her patience fading fast. “You don’t know what to do?” she asks, irritation and amusement warring in her voice. Irritation wins. Her cold gaze drags over you again, and you feel suddenly that the only thing worse than her being angry with you would be her being disappointed. “Surely you dress yourself every day?”

It’s a fair point, but equally, Lady Dimitrescu is sure to wear vastly different clothes to those which you dress yourself in every day. “I do, but…” you trail off.It’s not easy to explain – if you want to keep your position, at least – that if you actually get to touch her, any part of her, you might collapse. Not to mention what it would do to you having to listen to the panting and heavy breathing you imagine is involved in lacing a woman into her corset.

As you flail desperately over what will undoubtedly sound to her like pathetic excuses not to do your job, her patience snaps. “I do not expect you will find it challenging, but I shall be here to direct you if needed,” she says drily, getting up from her dressing table at last and oh, dear god, you were wrong about her height. So very wrong.

The lady towers over you, and this time she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk at your expression. You want to touch every inch of her, worship her with your fingers and mouth. She tugs a ribbon on the front of her nightdress, and it falls from her body, pooling at her feet and leaving you breathless.

Lady Dimitrescu is nothing short of an ethereal, goddess-like beauty. You want to tell her that, but there are no words to truly describe how enchanting she is, and perhaps she wouldn’t welcome hearing it from her maid anyway, so you bite your tongue and force yourself to attend to the task you’ve been given.  
  
She has, at least, laid out her clothing for you, although you expect that will be your job come tomorrow. You force your face into a neutral expression at the sight of her lace-edged underclothes, wondering how you’ll be able to bear seeing her all day while knowing what she’s wearing beneath her dress. You come close to her, trying to divert your eyes from her heavy breasts and the patch of startlingly dark hair between her pale thighs, the places where you want your mouth, and help her step into her underclothes.

You’re sure she could do this herself – in fact, she must have managed quite well before she made the impromptu decision to take you on as her maid – but it’s not for you to question how the lady of the manor should be tended to.

“Wait, pet,” she commands as you go to move away, grabbing your wrist. Surely you didn’t manage to fail even that basic task? Her grip is just as strong as you imagined it would be and you feel completely trapped, which was no doubt her intention. You’re so caught up in the feeling of her touch that you barely notice that she called you ‘pet’. She pulls your hand between her legs, pressing it against herself so you’re cupping her sex through the thin material. “You’re not done yet. This is part of your morning routine too.”

An unexpected thought flits through your mind – that you’ve finally found the only warm place in the entire house, and it’s between Lady Dimitrescu’s thighs – but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. It’s unlikely she would be happy with you smirking in her face. “My lady?” you ask, your voice shaking a little. You’ve been imagining how it would feel to touch her, but you hadn’t expected that you’d actually be allowed to. You’ve never touched anyone except yourself, and even that only involved half-heartedly moving against your pillow for some relief.

She grips your wrist tighter. “Come on, pet,” she coaxes, but there’s an edge of irritation still in her voice. You need to start doing something right before she loses her temper.

Her punishing grip is beginning to make your hand go numb, and you twitch your fingers to try and bring some feeling back. Even that simple movement makes her bite her lip to stifle a gasp, and you realise how much she wants this. Far from making you feel powerful, it just makes you even more nervous. “My lady, surely you would prefer to sit down?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time. You have a vague idea of what you need to do, but you don’t think your nervous, inexperienced fumbling is the kind of touching she’d enjoy. “My hands are rough from work, perhaps you would prefer something a little softer?”

She smirks, perhaps at your suggestion or perhaps at your attempt at a seductive expression. It doesn’t matter which, because she’s removing your hand from between her legs, slipping out of her underclothes again and sitting down at her dressing table, parting her legs.  
  
You kneel in front of her, and she smirks again. “Look at you there at my feet, just like a real pet,” she coos, mockingly stroking your hair, “be good now, little one.”

Using your hands to spread her legs a little more, you move comfortably between her thighs. You can smell the scent of her need and it makes you shiver. She must have been awake for a while, thinking about what she intended to make you do, and getting more and more aroused by it. That she might have been enjoying the thought of being touched by you has you pressing your thighs together.

You lean in, intoxicated by her scent and the glistening of her slick cunt. It’s hard to see in the low light where you need to put your mouth, but surely it can’t be that difficult? You lick her slowly, then a little harder, varying position and pressure until her hips jolt suddenly against your mouth and a low moan tears from her. You stop moving instantly, licking firmly in the same place, enjoying her groans of pleasure, before parting your lips and sucking her firmly.  
  
The reaction is instant; a sharp cry and more wetness against your chin. “Good girl,” she praises you, surprisingly breathlessly, “be a good pet and don’t stop.” Her long fingers make their way back into your hair, holding you to her, her nails scratching against you occasionally.

You want to pull back and tell her ‘never’, but the moment you try to even stop for breath, she grips your hair hard and grinds herself against your face, making it clear that you’re not permitted to stop licking at all. You begin to feel a little dizzy, and your fuzzy brain briefly questions whether dying like this would be such a bad thing.

“Oh you’re so good,” the lady breathes, surprisingly generous with her praise, and in your mind’s eye, you picture her back arching from the chair, head thrown back in pleasure. You wish desperately that you could see more, but even if she’d allow you to move, having your mouth on her is the best prize you could ask for.

You want nothing more than to make her lose herself, to feel the sweet slick of her release against your mouth. You begin to lick harder, occasionally stopping to suck her or tease lightly with the tip of your tongue. She begins to ride your mouth, her groans becoming louder and her grip on your hair tighter.

“Oh pet, oh good girl,” she moans, “oh, yes!” She begins to shake, her hips moving without control, rubbing her cunt all over your mouth, as she loses herself with a low groan.Trembling hands hold you firmly in place, so you keep licking her, a little more gently now as she squirms beneath you, until she shudders hard and pushes you away.

Immediately you bow your head submissively, waiting for her to pass judgement on your performance. It’s clear even without it being spoken that this is the most important part of your new role in the house. “You did well, pet. So good, aren’t you? So eager to please?” she croons, and that, more than anything else, makes you aware of the throbbing dampness between your own legs. “You may go now. You’ll start your duties properly tomorrow. And I expect to find you just as needy tomorrow morning. I’ll decide then whether you deserve the reward of being allowed to come.”


End file.
